


Hold My Hand (And Never Let Me Go)

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dating Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Domestic Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mates, One Shot, One True Pairing, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their love is young, and yet it's always been there. Or, the one where Derek finally shows a public display of affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Hand (And Never Let Me Go)

You’re holding hands. His hand is as large as yours; it’s warm –he’s always warm– but the skin of his palms is softer than you ever imagined. His grip is powerful; you know if he flexes he could crush every bone in your own hand. But he doesn’t. He only looks at you, his eyebrows arched in anticipation. His grey-green eyes are wide with uncertainty. You return his gaze and you pause. Then you squeeze his hand, just a little, and there’s the slightest of gives as you feel the musculature yield; you feel a slight ripple… is that a twitch? And, lo, the O of his mouth has curved into a half-smile.

You’re holding hands.The rain splatters large irregular drops down on the Jeep’s roof. You look out, see the branches of the tree sway in the wind of the growing storm, but here, in this little shelter where you have parked, you feel safe.

You’re holding hands. Another hand is on your shoulder now, searching for the collar of your shirt. You sigh, and you mirror his smile.  He’s stroking the skin of your neck ever so gently. You take a deep breath. You hope he doesn’t hear the slight moan you give when his hand shifts in yours and he brings it up to his mouth. The quickest, gentlest of kisses. You recall a snatch of a song… or is it a poem? Something your mother once said when you were little.

 

_You are the warm sun that rushes to my face…_

 

You’re holding hands. The rain is beating down hard now; you can hardly see through the windshield. He’s stroking your hair, you’re closing your eyes. You never knew someone’s touch could feel this good. Giddy, you allow yourself to topple sideways, until you’re crumpled against his side, feeling the leather of his jacket soft and cool against your face. You sniff, you smile in reflex; it’s a mixture you can’t describe – it’s his fresh cologne and the clean scent of laundry detergent, all borne on a slight dark note that is almost musky and almost burnt wood – but it’s all him.

You’re holding hands. His other arm is curled tight around you, you hear him growl softly; it’s a happy growl, a contented growl, you never knew his gruff voice could sound like music. He whispers your name in your ear. For a moment you’re breathless, but then your face is right up to his, you’ve both shaved this morning, but there is the slightest jolt of static as you feel the brush of each other’s stubble. 

You’re holding hands. You’re staring deep into each other’s eyes… it is a stare of a thousand years, no, ten-thousand, no, maybe epochs, you’re both so young, and yet you are so old. The words whirl about in your head… _mate, true love, Wolf and his Red, Red and his wolf…_ you know he’s thinking them too, but it doesn’t matter, there is just this space where your lips, finally, connect with his.

 

_You are the one I yearned for that fills my heart with grace…_

 

You’re holding hands. You don’t know how long the kiss lasted, but you’re both breathing slowly and deeply, eyes half-closed, his fingers now fully interlaced with yours. The rain has stopped, and the sun threatens to peek out above the trek of the clouds. He blows out his cheeks, and stares into the middle distance. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says. “It looks so lovely outside.”

You’re holding hands. You’re ambling across the park side-by-side, you pause at the top of the bridge and watch ducks weaving across the stream. The air is fresh with the smell of wet earth and grass and blossoms. Some people stare. You ignore them. You know that your young love is an ancient tale. You realise you’ve never done this before, in public, yet it feels like you’ve always done it. 

You’re holding hands. And now you know, you always will. 


End file.
